


a holding room where demons play

by tiredly



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: (with a belt), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fingering, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Post-Episode AU: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, Praise Kink, Spanking, Telepathy, this is the author's first time writing porn can you tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredly/pseuds/tiredly
Summary: In which the Master is bored, and thinks he's doing very well in his goal of making the Doctor angry.If you’d have asked the Doctor, however, you would have gotten a different answer entirely.





	a holding room where demons play

His eye had been twitching for five minutes. Approximately. Living one’s whole life with a never ending beat, ticking away without reprieve, and a meager upside was that measuring time with it became rather easy. It had been five minutes since the Master’s eye had started twitching, would probably be another five before it stopped, and  _ was going to drive him the hell insane, _ unless he found something to distract him adequately. Bored. He was bored, his fingers itching to cause mayhem, destruction, general unwellness, and he had absolutely nothing to focus this energy toward.

There was always the Doctor. That was always an option. But it was also a painfully frustrating one, one that would immediately see right through him, pull out those maddeningly pity-filled eyes, that worried frown, ask if everything’s  _ alright. _ Not bloody likely.

Unless. Unless he could replace that pity with something else entirely.

Oh, now that was a thought. The best one he’d had all day, really. Almost good enough to make this insufferable twitch leave him. Definitely good enough to distract him, though, and that was more than good enough.

If the conquering and terrorizing of the Doctor’s favorite little planet wasn’t enough to put so much as a speck of hatred in his eyes, then what  _ could _ the Master do to ignite it? It was a challenge as good as any, in fact, it was better.

He could make it last as long as he wanted it to - because really, what was the Doctor able to do to stop it?  _ Leave? _ Clearly, that was no option, or the Master wouldn’t be here still, in this clunky little TARDIS, with an ugly green tracker stuck into the back of his neck, and all but one of its keys (which was on the Doctor at all times and surely had enough wards around it to scorch him to the very touch) left with bugger-knows-who back on Earth. Probably Martha Jones.

Bottom line was, the Doctor wasn’t able to leave him. That gave way for so many choices. Limitless, almost.

The Master, in the back of his mind, noticed his eye was no longer twitching. It didn’t matter much at all anymore. He was far too preoccupied with almost a millennium’s worth of time to make up for, and with planning how to properly manipulate two hearts that were all too easily manipulated.

-

The next mealtime, the Doctor came to eat with the Master (which meant that he either was suspicious, lonely, or  _ very  _ bored - all of which good things in the Master's book), and it was all put into action. “You’re looking more scruffy than usual.” He was, to be quite fair. Hair messy, even further so than it’s everyday gelled mess, clothes wrinkled and looking rather dirty. A couple of bruises scattered about, too. “Gotten into a fight, again? Or was it just being shagged by another one of those humans?”

He reveled in the way the Doctor choked on his soup, the pink that spread so quickly across his pointed nose and cheeks, the uncomfortable tightening of his neck and shoulders. Point: scored. The Master smiled and waited for the ball to be thrown back into his court.

“Neither, actually,” the Doctor said eventually. “Just a lab mishap.”

“Bet you have a ton of those of the late,” the Master purred, and then - to go for a bit of nostalgic humiliation - added, “given your absolute wrecked grades in the Academy labs. Surprised you passed at all, really.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed dangerously, and his mouth twisted downward. “Well now I’m the only one of them left, 'side from you, and you’re locked up to hell and back with me.” He put his bowl down and gripped his spoon so tightly that the Master saw his knuckles straining. “So, how’s that Academy education helping you now, Master? Are you putting it to good use?”

“Oh, so he can bite!” He leaned forward and grinned. That was much quicker than expected. The Master had obviously hit a nerve, and now, he hoped to keep striking it until he found out exactly what it was. He lowered his voice. “Do it again.”

Unfortunately, the Doctor did not do it again. He scowled, shoved the food away, and stormed out of the room without another word.

The Master listened to the smooth swish of the metal door, the clicks of multiple locks sliding into place, and mulled that over. Interesting. Something to be analyzed further, for sure. But most of all, more pressing than either, was the warm smugness in his chest as he recalled the red flush in the Doctor’s face as he stood to leave.

He’d missed  _ that  _ quite dearly, he thought, smiling to himself as he finished his own supper (and then afterward, on a second thought, looked directly into the security monitor while he took the Doctor’s bowl of soup in his hands and drank it without blinking).

-

One day later, and the Doctor didn’t bring in a food tray for himself. Wasn’t hungry, perhaps, or ate preemptively, rather than otherwise spending that meal with the Master. 

_ Learned his lesson, perhaps?  _ But, no, the Doctor was just sitting cross-legged on the floor aside from him, smiling almost purposefully wide, like he was doing it from spite. Determination, maybe to avoid getting heated. That was fine - the Master was patient.

“Anything new on the schedule for us?” He said.

“Oh, plenty on it for me,” the Doctor said. “You can’t really say the same, but I suppose that just lets you sleep in a bit.”

“I’m not the one that sleeps in. That’s always been you.” 

“Plenty of time to reflect, then.” The Doctor was acting too content for his own good. The Master could feel the underlying emotion in his head, just strains of it that come off without him even searching, a radiation of tension that was shoddily hidden. 

“Reflect on how I’d do it better the next time?” He said. “Wonderful idea. Still bored.”

The Doctor closed his eyes, seemed to steel himself for a moment, and then smiled again.

“Sorry to hear that. Maybe I’ll bring you a deck of cards next time I go to Earth.”

“You’ll play it with me, then? Stupid little human games?” The Master grinned. “Oh, Doctor, how you’ve fallen from your Academy days.”

The Doctor looked like he wanted nothing more than to drop the smile. He didn’t. “Well, I’m the one that’s able to leave the TARDIS whenever I please.” The words had bite. “Maybe I’m doing better than you are right now.” 

The Master’s smile widened. “So that’s a no to the cards, then?”

The Doctor stood and left. 

\- 

That one was odd. He hadn’t stopped smiling, not the whole time. Hadn’t frowned once.   
  
His shoulders had been strained the whole time, though, and he had left so abruptly. With purpose, though it had only been the purpose of getting away from the Master. That counted for something. 

The Master decided it was a win. 

-

The next time the Doctor came in to check on him in his room, the Master was ready. He stood, leaned on the wall, and before the door even closed behind him, he scoffed. “What is  _ up  _ with that tie?”

“I like it just fine,” the Doctor said primly.  _ Ah,  _ the Master thought. The Doctor was still holding on to his Unlimited Patience, which was excellent news, because limits were made to be found. 

“Well I’d  _ like  _ to see it as burnt as Gallifrey, but I suppose opinions always vary.” The Doctor didn’t grace that with a response, which was perhaps better. The Master was very good at interpreting. “Can I help you, now? Or are you just in here to show me those abominable clothes? Doctor, I’d had no idea you’ve become such a showgirl.” That got him another flush, a beautiful red against the Doctor’s pale neck. Regardless, his eyes narrowed, and he didn’t look away.

“I’m going to be making a stop today,” he said stiffly. “You’ll have to follow the passenger's landing procedures. Nothing out of place, do you hear me?”

“Oh, so now you want to follow the rules?” The Master scoffed. “You never used to do that.”

“Shut up.”

“Every single time we used an Academy TARDIS, every time. Not a single bit of landing protocol was followed, Doctor. You can’t tell me you’ve seen the light  _ now.” _ The Master got a cruel idea. “Not when there’s nobody left to discipline you for it.”

To be fair, he had thought that Gallifrey was the trigger. Talking about their old home had been the thing to set him off a day earlier, after all. A snide reminder that the Doctor, and the Doctor alone, was the cause of his own devastating loneliness. Nobody left to tell him off with the periodic misuse of a TARDIS. He thought that would be the tipping of today’s iceberg, the trophy to fall asleep with, and to use in further planning. He thought the Doctor would get  _ mad. _

That was not what happened this time. Instead of snapping his teeth, the Doctor clenched them. Instead of spitting an insult, he went completely silent. The Master wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

Without a word, the Doctor turned on his heel and left the room, his coat billowing behind him as he walked quickly, much more quickly than he had entered. Over his shoulder, he threw one final dismissal - “We land in an hour!” - before aggressively hitting the button - punching it, really - to close the door.

As it slid shut, the Master caught one final glimpse of his face before locking. He didn’t look angry. And then it was closed.

Well, bugger. The Master blinked, then again, because really, that had been rather unexpected. He sat back down on his bed. Sighed, and tapped his fingers on his cheek.

Back to the drawing board, he supposed.

-

As it so happened, he wasn’t able to go back to the drawing board quite then.

The TARDIS began it’s landing spiral too soon for his mind to latch on to any particular idea, and he begrudgingly put on the provided safety harness, ridiculous straps and all, and hooked them up to the wall. The landing was bumpy, sloppily done. The TARDIS’ front door squeaked as it opened, and moments later he felt the slightly unnerving shift in the air, signalling that it was locked and undergoing the chameleon effect. 

Then it was silent, excluding of course the infernal drumming, and of course it had been silent  _ before, _ but there was always the promise that the Doctor was, regardless of anything else, very nearby. That was no longer the case, and planning a psychological attack was little fun without the proper inspiration that the Doctor’s proximity always provided.

Bored. Bored, and tense, and so very loud.

He wondered how Lucy was faring after trying to murder him. It was, admittedly, justified. He would have killed her just as quickly. But of course, he would have actually succeeded at it.

He wondered if she would still provide the same distraction for him as she had before. A warm body, soft skin, a flighty, skittish sense to her that always read as nervous, but eager. Good enough to distract him, good enough to make the drumming dim over the sound of a crop cracked against her enough times. Good enough to feed his desire for control.

_ ...Good enough,  _ he thought, as he unzipped his trousers and plunged a hand into them.

An awkward shimmy to get them off - they were the only clean pair he himself had, and he would wear them until they were rags before accepting donations from the Doctor’s grossly patterned wardrobe. Ran his fingers along the underside, from base to tip, and rolled his eyes before closing them entirely.

Good enough.

He tried picturing Lucy as he got hard, tried to remember her blonde hair and pink lips as he rubbed the flat of his hand over his slit. It was good enough. He tried to remember the way her hips swayed, the way she walked and talked and fucked. It was… good enough.

Except that it wasn’t. Somewhere between his third and fourth attempt to actually  _ get somewhere,  _ he realized that it wasn’t bloody good enough, and was surprised that it ever had been back on Earth. 

She wasn’t good enough. Had never been good enough. And he was still bored. 

He didn’t need her. She was another human, the same as the rest, and he had been getting his rocks off for a thousand years before meeting her - what was the difference? Any fantasy would do. 

Maybe a brunette. Maybe a man. Did it even have to be human? The Master held on to the flighty sense that Lucy had held, perhaps because it was his favorite quality in her, in any potential fuckthing, really. He hissed as his hand started squeezing tighter, moving faster, and with enough sweat and precum there was marginally less of that uncomfortable friction.

A bit of bondage never hurt, so why not give a rope or two? That was nice. A couple of red marks, of course, from being slapped about. The Master’s breath hitched. Hair disheveled completely, burying his hands in it, pulling on it, hearing a whimper whenever he got too rough, which only meant that he would be rougher the very next time. 

The Master’s breath stuttered, hearts stuttered, and as his eyes fell closed and he spilled into his hand with a hiss, he saw a pair of familiar brown eyes.

Coming down from his orgasm contentedly, he allowed himself a moment of peace, of the blood rushing in his ears that, just for a moment, drowned out all other noise. The Master let himself take one moment, out of countless, to enjoy the silenced drums. 

They were back just as quickly, of course. This didn’t surprise him. They always came back. But, as he cleaned up the mess he made of the bed, and stepped into the bathroom for a wash, he was smug to admit to himself that they seemed a bit quieter than before. 

-

As expected, the Doctor walked back into the room sooner rather than later. That would be discouraging, implying that perhaps the plan to make the Doctor upset with, to make him  _ hate  _ the Master, was failing - making him look forward to their meetings pointed strongly toward the opposite. 

Then again, more meetings would only give the Master more opportunities to get it right again. 

While he had been in the shower he had mulled things over. Thoroughly. As it turned out, Gallifrey wasn’t the thing to draw negative reactions from the Doctor. Nor was the mention of his human toys. In fact, the Master wasn’t sure if there had been a properly angry response from the Doctor, this whole time. Only a few particularly rude words, in response to prodding about grades from an old school with older curriculum, so the Master supposed that was fair enough. 

So how the hell was he to go about this, then? He had decided eventually, that the best way was also the most straightforward, the most vicious. 

And when the Doctor walked back into the TARDIS, set it to an unknown destination, and then immediately come to the Master’s room, the Master was quite ready. 

“You killed them all,” he said, feeling a strange calmness. The Doctor stopped mid-stride, only barely remembering to close the door behind him. His face looked stricken. The Master continued talking. “Killed them, escaped, and ran about the galaxy for the rest of your life knowing you survived and they didn’t.”   


“Yes,” the Doctor said. 

“Yes, what?” he prompted, grabbing the Doctor’s shoulders, pushing him against the cold wall and holding him there. He had done it without thinking really, but the Doctor played along so beautifully, all wide eyes, red cheeks, and heavy breaths.

“Yes, Master.” That sent a kick of heat, of adrenaline and anticipation and euphoria all at once. It curled in the Master’s stomach, fluttered about, put on his lips a ghost of a smile.

“Did you feel powerful?” he asked, quietly - it was almost a whisper.

“Like nothing else in the universe,” the Doctor whispered.

“Deciding all of their fates. You held that in your hands.”

“I did.”

“And you liked it, didn’t you?” The Doctor was silent at that, and the Master pressed harder.  _ “Didn’t you?” _

“No.” That threw the Master off guard a bit, and he faltered. Loosened his fingers, if only a little bit. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Do you, now,” he said, lips curling upward almost fondly. 

“I do,” the Doctor pressed. 

“And…” the Master lowered his voice, moved it just a bit closer to the Doctor’s ear. “Is it working?” There was no answer. The smile dropped from the Master’s face, he heard the drums accelerate, and raised his voice.  _ “Is it?” _

The Doctor only stared at him, seeming to calculate an equation in his mind, then made up his mind, and lunged forward. “Yes.”

The Master had expected an attack - an act of passion, a fit of rage and anger and hatred, of emotions pent too long. And, in a way, as the Doctor clashed their teeth and tongues together, as the Master’s grip on his shoulders tightened against the wall, pushing the Doctor further back until he was pinned completely, that was, in a way, exactly what he had received.

This wasn’t new, not at all - but it had been a while, and they’d both gone through quite a few bodies since. How much had the Doctor changed, exactly? How much had stayed the same? 

The Master lowered a hand, running it down the Doctor’s chest, his stomach, his hips, experimentally, before wrapping around his wrist. Lifting it above the Doctor’s head, holding it there tightly. The resulting shudder and moan that tore from him was a wonderful reward. That, at least, hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“Oh, I see” he murmured. “This is what’s been bothering you, now? You’ve been thinking about  _ this,” _ he lifted his thigh up, between the Doctor’s, “all this time?” The Doctor shuddered and whimpered at the contact, eyes fluttered shut, drawing his brows together and his lips apart in a beautiful “o”. 

But that still wasn’t an answer. 

The Master dragged his teeth across, licked at, and then bit into the skin connecting the Doctor’s throat to his shoulders without warning.  _ “Answer me, Doctor,”  _ he growled.

“Yes,” was his breathy response. The Master scowled and bit even harder. The Doctor yelped, his knees buckled at that - which would have been a problem, if the Master wasn’t holding him so tightly already.

“Yes,  _ what?” _

“Yes, Master.”

The Master felt a smile twist at his lips. “Damn right,” he said, then grabbed the tie. That  _ awful  _ tie. He pulled down on it, took a few steps back, so that the Doctor’s neck was bent and his face was looking upward desperately. “You’ve missed this,” the Master purred. “Say it.”   


“I’ve missed this.”

“I should have known you’d always find your way back, back to begging for me, shouldn’t I?”

“That would have been smart, yeah,” the Doctor admitted, a crooked smile playing at his lips. The Master just grinned and dipped down into another kiss. 

“You’re one to talk about smart, aren’t you,” he mused after pulling away. “When all you did was run around in these fucking ties-” another tug to that “-these tight clothes of yours-” he used his other hand to throw off the Doctor’s coat, not able to be rid of these layers quick enough “-hoping that I’d eventually have enough of it and rip them off of you? Take you for myself, right in the center of the control room?”

The Doctor keened at that, downright  _ whimpered, _ and the sound brought a curl of satisfaction to the Master’s stomach. 

“That’s a yes then. Of course it is. All this time since Gallifrey, but I still know you best.” He leaned down, smiling conspiratorially, letting his breath linger just next to the Doctor’s ear. “And  _ you  _ must still know that better things come to those who use their words.”

“Master,” the Doctor panted. “Master, please.”

“Aw, look at you.” The Master lifted a hand to his cheek, letting himself revel in the trembling mess that the Doctor was becoming underneath the barest of touches. “Doctor, my Doctor, what you do to me. I rather like this body of yours. Look how responsive you are.” He leaned to brush his lips against the Doctor’s forehead. “How eager.” Moved them to his jaw. “How beautiful.” 

“Master,” the Doctor whined. 

“Tell me.” His voice lowered again. “Tell me how much you want it.” 

“I want it, I want it, Master.” His Doctor’s breath was shallow, his voice catching. “I want you, please, Master, I need you, Gods, I need you.” He babbled desperately, sweetly, both devoted and terrified. “I missed this, I thought about this so often, about you, Master…” His eyes fell shut, trembling lashes and all. “Master,  _ please…” _

“Get on your knees.” The Doctor complied. “Mouth open. There, that’s a love.” He reached down to stroke the Doctor’s chin, then slipped a thumb into the Doctor’s mouth. “Suck.”

And, oh, he had always had such a pretty mouth, but this one was just exceptional. All of his quick breathing, his impatient tongue, his lips that fit perfectly around his finger like they were made for taking the Master into them. 

“Oh, look at that. Look at you. So hungry, so pretty, so perfect,” he crooned. “So good for me, so needy. All mine, aren’t you, Doctor?” He threaded his other hand into the Doctor’s mess of hair, scratched the skin, tightened and twisted. “Mine.” He added another finger. 

The Doctor gave a high pitched moan, shuddering, returning to mouth at the Master’s finger with a vigor that set a heavy warmth curling through his stomach. 

He looked absolutely desperate to please - already a quivering mess, already flushed, paying such sweet attention to his Master. It was almost embarrassing to watch. He carefully removed his fingers, and reached for the tie around his neck.

“Shirt off, and hands together, Doctor. Wrist to wrist. You know the drill.”

It was quick work, binding his hands. They were both so used to it, it barely took a second, but it was such a beautiful feeling to wrap it around the Doctor’s bony wrists, work a knot between them, tighten it, and then repeat. A steady rhythm, synced to the beat in his head. The Doctor breathed along into it, hitching when the tie caught or tightened more than he expected it to. And the Master could see it all, now - the blush spreading across his chest, accenting the freckles peppered across it. He wanted to bite them all.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

“What was that?” He tightened his grip in the Doctor’s hair, jerking his head back. 

_ “Master.” _

“That’s a good boy.” He didn’t care to take his pants off fully. Easier to undo the zipper and take out his cock - after all, he wasn’t sure the Doctor could sit still for longer than that. He used his thumb as a wedge to open the Doctor’s mouth, letting it linger on his lips for a fraction of a moment before thrusting in deep.

The effect was instant. The Doctor whimpered around him, almost mewling with excitement, bobbing his head up and down the length with the appetite of a starving man. 

“Fuck,” hissed the Master, something that seemed to stroke the Doctor’s ego, because he only became more energetic. “I missed you gagging on my cock. Always so enthusiastic to please. You’re the best I’ve ever had, you know that? You always listen so well.” He threaded his fingers through the Doctor’s hair, that wild, unruly hair. Pulled a little, and oh, that brought out the sweetest sound. He did it again. “Oh, Doctor.”

It was always such a beautiful sight, seeing him on his knees. Hearing those filthy sounds he made as he did what he was told. So lustful, so desperate, just like he had always been for his Master. 

“Look at me,” he coaxed, feeling his chest warm when the Doctor opened his eyes, and glanced up at him from underneath his lashes. “There you go.” Then his second hand joined the first, and he started fucking the Doctor’s mouth over his cock in earnest. 

The way the Doctor gagged when he hit the back of his throat  _ just so, _ the way he didn’t stop, even then. “You’re being so good for me, pet. So good. Dirty, dirty little thing. Aren’t you? Show me how dirty you are.”

The Doctor made a noise at that, somewhere between a muffled whine and a growl, with that lovely little voice of his, and the Master felt it go straight to his cock.

“Oh, sweethearts, your mouth,” he muttered, not exactly meaning to. The Doctor felt so good, was so good, so warm - he knew exactly what to do, exactly how his Master wanted him to do it. His cheeks all hollowed out, his eyes dewey and half-lidded, and his mind… the Master felt the Doctor’s mind ever so gently extending, reaching out for his own. 

That wasn’t allowed.

“Tsk. You wicked thing.” Gently, he pulled the Doctor off of him, loving the image of his two hands on either side of his head, gripping it roughly, tilting it upwards, so he could take in the Doctor’s glazed eyes and pink mouth. “Did I say you could do that?”

“Master-”

“Did you think that you would be deciding the pace?”

“Master,  _ please-” _

“Oh, Doctor,” the Master purred. “You were doing so well. What a pity I’ll have to punish you, now.” He didn’t miss the way the Doctor shifted at that, all terror and excitement in one, still staring at him with those wide, brown eyes. “Stand up.”

The Doctor did, eagerly, his pale body trembling as the Master walked around him, appraising him, taking him all in like a shark would circle its prey.

“I wonder how you would look bent over my knee, Doctor.” He saw him shiver. “How long this new body of yours would take to turn all pink.” He ran a finger down the Doctor’s spine, feeling goosebumps, then leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I can’t wait to re-learn you.” His hand travelled down to grope the Doctor’s ass. “But first I think we’ll need to get you out of all these awful clothes.”

It took control like no other to keep from ripping anything. Had the Master truly had his way, the trousers would never see the light outside of that room for the rest of time. As it was, though, they ended up crumpled, flung far away, but with minimal damage - with a bit of deliberation, he decided to keep the belt. And the Master was able to behold the Doctor in his flushed and fucked glory. 

Walking to the bed, he made a show of folding the belt in half, wrapping part of it around his hand, so the leather strip was tight in his grip. He sat. “Come here.” The Doctor did. “Now, over my knee.”

He wished he could capture moments like these in time. The image of the Doctor, bare if not for the tie still binding his wrists, crawling on the bed toward his Master, taking a sweet moment of complete trust before lowering himself across the Master’s lap (still fully clothed, too, and that would definitely have to change when the Master got the chance). It was almost unbearably perfect, one thing of absolutivity in the universe where nothing else was.

“Talk to me, Doctor,” he whispered, taking it in, wishing he could drink and sleep and breathe this moment. 

“I want…” He broke off into a high whine when the Master’s hand found its way to his ass and squeezed. 

“What was that, darling?” The Master asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Instead of answering, the Doctor remained quiet, and the Master felt another prod at the corner of his mind. He brought the belt down. It left a loud  _ crack _ in the air around them, almost as sharp as the yelp from the Doctor’s mouth, twice as loud. 

“That’s another time you’ve tried doing that without permission, Doctor,” he tutted. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Fuck me, hopefully,” is what he got in reply, so he lifted the belt again.

One. Two. Three. Each harder than the last, and each gifting the Master a song of percussion and vocals, a symphony sweeter than any he’d heard across the galaxies. 

“Oh, I missed those noises you would always make. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” the Doctor panted. 

“Yes  _ what?” _

“Yes, Master.”

“And you had such a pair of lungs on you, I thought we would be found out for sure. Caught red-handed in our dormitory, all because you were rubbish at staying quiet.” The Master smiled fondly. “We never were.”

“Oh come off it,” the Doctor said, “I wasn’t  _ that  _ lo-”

He stopped, mainly because another slap was delivered, and choked out another yelp, but the Master liked to think that it was because he realized he was wrong, and simply decided to stop talking.

“I do think I’d like you to count these back to me, my Doctor, if you please.” _ Crack.  _ “Let’s call that one.”

“One,” the Doctor said, taking a breath to steady his voice.

_ Crack. _

“Two.”

_ Crack. Crack. _

“Three. Four.” The Master smiled as the Doctor counted. “How many of these are you going to give-”

_ Crack. _ “There were only going to be four left, but you’ve just upped it by talking out of turn.”

“Oh, no, you never said anything about turns-”

_ Crack. _ “That’s six, pet. Keep up.”

“...Six.”

_ Crack. _ The Master made that one harder than the rest. He wasn’t sure why, except perhaps because of how lovely the pink and reds looked on the Doctor’s skin, and how beautiful the resulting cry was. 

“Seven.”

“To answer your question, Doctor, the new number is thirteen. You’ve six left - you’re taking them wonderfully, might I add.”  _ Crack. _

The Doctor was a mess, a sweating and shaking mess, with his thighs trembling so wonderfully and his leaking cock pressing into the Master’s leg so stiffly. By the time they reached thirteen, he wasn’t counting aloud any longer - he just kept making those lovely sounds, screaming them, singing them, and the Master was getting so hard himself, and the Doctor’s face echoed in his mind with the drums made for a nice change. 

“Oh, Doctor,” he whispered. “Look at this mess I’ve made of you.” His ass was already red, turning a bit purple in some places, and the Master knew that it would only get better as time passed. He leaned down to kiss it, moving upward along the Doctor’s spine, earning him breathy moans of appreciation. “What a masterpiece.” Another kiss, this one open-mouthed, lustful and hungry, and telepathic connection in place or not, he knew the Doctor could feel it rolling off of him in waves. 

“Master…”

“Yes, love?” The Master didn’t move his lips from the bruised skin as he answered. The Doctor didn’t say anything - and that was certainly a change, wasn’t it? - only kept pushing back into the contact. “Use your words, now.”

“Master,  _ please, _ please, please connect with me-” the Doctor said, cut off by the Master’s lips on his, a hand threaded gingerly into his hair, pulling him into it gently. 

After they broke apart, the Master smiled at him. “Patience rewards those who wait.”

That seemed to break something, some sort of dam in the Doctor’s head, and his face crumpled. He mewled, he whimpered, sitting back up and kissing the Master harder, panting and twisting so he could be closer, closer, prodding again and again, more and more and more impatiently at the Master’s mind. It was interesting, incredible, beautiful - but most of all, it was breaking the rules.

“Doctor,” he said, very slowly, firmly holding him by the biceps, pulling him away from his mouth. 

“Master, I asked nicely, I said please, _ please,” _ the Doctor whined, dragging it out like a prayer. His shoulders were restrained, but he was still grinding down in the Master’s lap, on the same suit he was arrested in. Well, that was a pity. The fabric was as good as ruined.

“You’re very needy, aren’t you,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Obedient, until I tell you no. Bratty little thing.” The Doctor’s eyes fell shut at that, and his moan was unashamed. The Master leaned in and bit at his neck. “But,” he whispered, “you are  _ mine.” _

“Yours,” the Doctor breathed. “All yours.” 

That was more than good enough for him. The Master made quick work of the tie around the Doctor’s wrists, loosening it and then pulling it off entirely (hoping, at least a little bit, that it would catch and rip on something). “On your back. Hands on the headboard, and don’t you even think about touching yourself.”

The Doctor did so eagerly, watching with hungry eyes as the Master started removing his clothes. He wanted to go slowly, and the monster in his head goaded him to take his time with everything, cufflinks and buttons and lapels and all. 

He didn’t do that - partially because he didn’t think the Doctor could handle it, and partially because he wasn’t sure he could himself.

So he was quick. Quick to discard his clothes on the floor (they would need a thorough washing after this anyway), quick to run to the bathroom and fetch body lotion (it would work well enough, but the TARDIS was hardly stocked enough to give him many options), quick to return to his Doctor, who, just as he had been told, had kept his hands firmly on the headboard. 

Knees bent, back arched, he looked like Utopia. 

“Oh, my Doctor,” the Master said as he approached. “So gorgeous, so wonderful, so good for me. You’ve been so good.” The Doctor practically glowed at that, his eyes shining, his smile exhausted, brilliant, beautiful, all at once. “I’d say you’ve earned a good fucking, wouldn’t you?”

“Do it, please do it,” the Doctor panted.

“If you ask very nicely, I will.”

“I want you so badly, Master, I _need _you, I-” the Doctor broke off, arching his back. The Master smiled at him. Writhing around on the bed, little thing, and he wasn’t even being touched. “I need this, need you, I need you so badly, Master, _please.”_

“...anything, you say?”

“Anything, Master, please, anything,” the Doctor promised, voice hitching. The Master smiled.

“No touching yourself. You won’t come unless it’s on my cock.” The Doctor keened, threw his head back, sounding for a moment like he might cry. The Master kept his face cool. “Those are my terms. Do you accept?”

“I do.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” And then the Master crawled onto the bed, finding himself between the Doctor’s legs. He supposed it was funny - this was how it had started, centuries ago. They had come full circle. 

He slid a slicked finger into the Doctor, and marveled at how tight his hole was. “Look at you,” he murmured. “So tight. So tight for me. How long has it been since you’ve let someone do this to you?” The Doctor babbled something unintelligible, and the Master twisted his finger sharply, making him cut off and gasp. “Speak up, darling.”

“The-” he took a few breaths. “Last regeneration. The last one I had. My ninth.”

“Years and years ago, I expect.”

“Years- yeah,” the Doctor panted, squirming underneath the Master’s hands, fucking himself on the Master’s finger.

The Master let his free hand roam upward, tracing a nail lightly along the Doctor’s chest, across his nipple, which got a surprised hiss and a shudder. Interesting. He decided to keep doing it, while he lowered to latch his mouth onto the Doctor’s neck, his shoulder, his collar. 

“Master…”

“What is it?” He asked, before feeling yet another prodding in his head, the most forceful attempt yet. He sat back up, retreated with a rueful smile. “Oh, Doctor, that’s disappointing. I was just about to add another finger, too.”

“Master-”

“You think you can bat your eyes at me and get out of this?” He asked. The Doctor, to his credit, said nothing, just tightened his grip on the headboard impatiently, squeezed his eyes shut. “I was always better than you at that in school. You couldn’t hold a candle to it, darling. You knew that once. You won’t wear me down, Doctor, and we’ll connect when I say so.” 

He curled his finger in the way he knew would make the Doctor scream, the way that he had grown to memorize, and let himself sit and enjoy the sound. Then he moved it again, hitting that spot just slightly different from the last, and let it repeat. Again. Again. 

“All of this from just one finger,” he mused. “It really has been a while, hasn’t it? I bet whoever fucked you last did a miserable job.” The Doctor whimpered in reply, which was as good an answer as any. “I hope they did. I’m the only one who gets to make you feel like this.” He accentuates that with a growling bite on the Doctor’s hipbone. He loved the howl he got in return.  _ “Me.” _

“You,” the Doctor said, almost hysterical, breathing louder than he spoke. His chest was flushed up to his neck, his eyes barely open. “You, Master, it’s always you.”

“And I know what’s best for you. I know what you need.” He twisted it and curled, watched the Doctor stop breathing for a second. 

“Exactly what I need, yes, yesyesyes,  _ Master.” _

He was trying for points. It was so pathetic, so obvious, written all over his beautifully pitiful face. The Master grinned. “So come for me.”

“Ngk?”

“You heard me, Doctor.”

“Master, I need-” he broke off as the Master twisted his finger again. “I need more, Master, please- oh,  _ gods-” _

“I know you, darling,” the Master whispered, leaning down, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. “I know you, and I know your mind, and I know your body.” He nipped on the Doctor’s collar. “And I gave you an order.”

Another curl of his finger pushed the Doctor over the edge, and he came with a shout, hands still gripping the headboard, nearly hard enough to break it. The Master kept fucking his finger into him, lowering his head to take the Doctor’s untouched cock, to swallow every drop like he was ravenous. He tasted wonderful, as always.

“Thank you Master,” the Doctor mewled, without even being told. The Master felt a warm rush of pride at that - his sweet Doctor, following the rules they set centuries ago, never forgetting it. 

_ Oh, I think you’ve earned this now, _ he thought, finally letting down the mental barrier. He felt, for just a moment, the Doctor’s shock, that alone being the flood warning before the rest of the thoughts, the emotions, the absolute devotion came pouring in.

The Master gives him a small slap - a love pat, if anything - on the hip before pulling his mouth off with a small pop. “You’ve been so good, my sweet little slut, my darling  _ Theta, _ so good. I told you I knew you could come untouched. I told you I knew your body. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes, Master,” he said back, a wrecked smile on his lips.   
  
“I know you,” he growled, going for another kiss. “Say it.”

“You know me.”

“Yes,” the Master purred. “Every inch. Which is why, Doctor, I know that you can do it again.”

He let himself close his eyes, devote his attention to watching everything in the Doctor’s mind come to a complete blank, feeling the bubble of fear, and painful arousal, overcoming every thought in his mind. The  _ no, no, no’s _ and the  _ oh, gods, yes, yes, yesyesyesYES. _ The Master pressed another finger in, eyes open now, watching the way the Doctor’s cock twitched as he did it.

“Master,” the Doctor said, breathing heavy and erratic. “Master, please.”

The Master spread his fingers inside the Doctor, scissoring him open, loving the whining coming from the Doctor’s mouth, loving the way his fingernails were leaving small scratches on the wooden headboard. “Please, what?”

The Doctor thrust a bundle of emotions in his direction, ones that were all tangled up in knots and loops, ones that the Master had very little interest in sorting completely through right now, because he had much better things to do.

“Use your words,” he said, using a singsong voice. “Come now, we’ve been over this already, haven’t we?” A third finger already. He was only one orgasm in, and his muscles were already soft, his hole just begging to be fucked. 

The Doctor moaned at that - the Master must have accidentally broadcasted that thought, or perhaps the Doctor had just gotten a bit better at reading him. “Please,” he squeaked, voice breathy and desperate.

“You want that?” The Doctor nodded quickly, eagerly. “You want me to fuck you? Want me to take you right here, pound you into the mattress like the whore you are?”

“I’m ready, Master,” he promised, eyes wild, begging him. “I want you, I need you, I need you in me, Master, _ please.” _

“You think you’re ready, Doctor,” said the Master with a smirk. “I’m not so sure, though. Not so soon. It’ll just hurt you, pet.”

“What, like that’s stopped you before?” The Doctor snapped impatiently, pushing himself up to look at him. “Not bloody likely. You know you like it just as much as I do, so fuck me, Koschei, fuck me and _ make me bloody remember it.” _ The Master stopped moving, just as soon as the Doctor stopped speaking, realizing what he said, stiffening, clapping a hand over his mouth.

The Master’s vision went red. The Drums roared. “Take. Your. Hand. Off.”

The Doctor did. He didn’t breathe.

The Master stood, walked along the side of the bed, watched the Doctor’s eyes follow him. He couldn’t hear any of his thoughts, but not for any attempt in hiding them, only for lack of supply. The Doctor was scared silent. 

“Would you care to repeat that, Doctor? Give me a bit of a recap,” he prodded, eyes narrowed, teeth bared.

The Doctor shook his head quickly. He was still hard, disheveled and messy, but his eyes were wide, fearful, glowing with anticipation. 

_ “Repeat it.” _

The Doctor exhaled shakily. “I said,” he whispered, his voice barely able to project loudly enough for the Master to hear it. “I said to fuck me and hurt me and make me remember it.”

The Master’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You think you give the orders,” he said. “You think you can choose what name to call me.”

The Doctor didn’t answer, only blinked his eyes, and that was an answer good enough for the Master. He lifted his arm and grabbed the Doctor’s throat. Two hands immediately came up to meet his own, but instead of trying to pull them off, they only pulled him closer, held him tighter, just like the Master knew they would.

He checked the feedback from the Doctor’s mind. Ecstasy, in its most unadulterated form, euphoric and frenzied, the desperation and lust and  _ YES, YES, YES. _

“You want this? You want me to do this?” The Master growled. “Choke you out and make your little neck purple? How many bruises does it take to satisfy you?”

The Doctor lifted his head, tried to catch the Master’s lips on his own. He couldn’t. The Master lifted his hand and brought the Doctor’s face up to meet his, moving him from the neck, like a ragdoll, a toy. 

“Why should I kiss you, hm?” He murmured on the Doctor’s lips. “Why should I give you anything you want?” He heard a whimper, felt the Doctor try to push up to steal one anyway. 

_ Master, Master, Master, please, please, please- _

He threw the Doctor back onto the bed, watching his long legs knock into each other, his hands coming up to cradle his neck, but his eyes never left the Master’s. They followed him as he stalked forward, onto the bed with him, descending on the Doctor like a bird of prey. 

“I’m your Master,” he said, voice dripping with venom. “Say it.”

“You’re my Master.”

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“My pet-”

“Your pet-”

“My toy-”

“Your toy-”

“This,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the Doctor’s neck, one by one, “is mine.”

_ This is yours. _

He leaned forward, capturing a kiss, licking into the Doctor’s mouth, taking it all. 

_ And don’t you ever fucking forget that. _

_ Never, Master, never. _

When he pulled away, he didn’t release his grip, but gave a tap to one of the Doctor’s legs. “Let’s spread these, love, why don’t we.”

With no other warning, he takes his hand on the Doctor’s neck and pushes it backward until his head hits the mattress and he’s on his back. Legs spread, of course. Just as he was told.

“You want me to make it hurt, you said?” The Doctor nodded, screaming affirmations in his head, mouthing along to them - if only he had enough air to voice them out loud. “And you think you’re all nice and ready, is that it?” He pushed a finger, then two, into the Doctor, testing it out. He felt the Doctor’s throat taking in small breaths, exhaling small whimpers.

_ Master… please…  _

He decided to believe him. He released the Doctor for a second to grab the tube of lotion, fumbling with it, cursing the damned lid, and then it popped off, and he was able to slather it across his cock. 

He replaced the hand on the Doctor’s neck, making sure to put it just a bit lower, that if need be, the Doctor would be able to breathe enough to tell him to stop.

“Beg for me.”  
  
_ Please fuck me, Master, please fuck me, please, please, pleasepleaseplease- _

The Master obliged.

As soon as he was inside of the Doctor, he felt the mental feedback go into a frenzy, felt his own mind lose much of its structuring. The Doctor was so _ good,  _ so wonderfully warm and tight with moans that sounded of music.

“Master,” the Doctor howled, or tried to (the hand around his neck was unforgiving - the Master made sure of it), with one hand reaching down for his own cock. The Master grabbed it, forced his arm down on the mattress by the wrist, and hissed in his ear.

“Have you forgotten our deal already, Doctor?” he asked. “If you come, you come untouched. Are you really that dumbed down right now? You get one taste of my cock, and suddenly your mind’s fucked off to somewhere else?” He tightened his grip, thrust in harder. “So fucking pathetic.”

His mind was flooded with approval from that.

“Oh, you like when I call you that?” he said. He fucked into the Doctor hard. “You’re a Time Lord that likes to be called a dumb little whore?”

He loosened his grip, if only to hear the raspy “yes, yes, yes,” coming from the Doctor’s lips, the big gulps of air that he took in when the Master hit him  _ just  _ right.

“Well,” he said, biting on the Doctor’s shoulder, dragging his teeth along and loving the sounds it got him, “that’s exactly what you are.  _ My  _ little whore. I wonder, if your little planet Earth could see you now, your tiny little humans, what they would  _ say  _ about it…”

“Fuck what they would say,” the Doctor panted. “They couldn’t stop me.” His eyes were barely open, his breath so shallow it was almost worrying. Almost. “Couldn’t keep me away.”

The Master felt those words go straight to his cock, inhaling sharply, his mind faltering, because oh, that was  _ wonderful. _ He tried to put a tap on the warm feeling in his chest, the blatantly obvious promise it brought, but he knew it was a bit late for that. So he tightened his grip, and kept pounding into him, listening to the strangled yelps coming from him. “Oh, Theta, how  _ sentimental _ of you.”

_ I like it when you use my name, too. _

“Theta,” the Master growled, thrusting in and angling himself so that he hits his prostate, and Theta howled. Again. Again. Again. Tears were glistening in his eyes, on his face, and the Master allowed himself to dip down, kiss them, taste them. “You are  _ mine.” _

_ All yours, yours, yours, oh gods, yours. _

The Doctor was so close - their mental connection was a tribute to that. All the things he wasn’t able to scream aloud were doubled in volume, his senses overloaded and nerves buzzing. Theta was electric,  _ electric, _ and the Master felt it from the surface of his skin, from the notes he sang, the beating of his hearts.

“You’re beautiful, Theta,” he whispered. “So lovely. So good for me.”

_ Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, more, more, pleasepleasegivememore, Master, more- _

“Say my name!”

“Master!” The Doctor arched into it, moved his hips with the Master’s cock, one wrist still held down, the other digging into the bedframe. His legs spasmed with every thrust the Master gave, his mind wailed what his lungs couldn’t, his eyes were rolled back, and the Master knew he was ready. Saw it in the tension of his muscles, in the chaotic landscape of his mind.

So when the Doctor whispered, “Master, please, may I  _ please  _ come, please, please let me come,” it was with the utmost pride that the Master was able to lean down and whisper in his ear.

“Not yet.” 

The noise Theta made when he heard that was just as good as the very first time they did this. A mewl, desperate and hopeless. Begging for something he knew he wouldn’t get, and asking anyway. The Master loved this part. This part, where he would see the Doctor fall apart like nothing else in the galaxy.

Theta cried, he swore, bucked up and down on the bed onto the Master, wrestled with his pinned wrist. In his mind, he was begging, flooding the Master’s senses with it all. The Master moved his lips to the Doctor’s and licked into them, loving how eagerly the Doctor sucked on his tongue. Desperate little toy. 

_ Please, Master, please, please, please,  _ and, of course, when all that brought him was a wicked smile and another scrape of the Master’s cock against his prostate, it turned into a stream of  _ fuck, fuck, fuck. _

“Master,” he whined, as soon as the Master had pulled off of his mouth, the sound as sweet as candy. “Master, please, I need it, I need it.”

This was his favorite part - the convincing. “You think you need this?”

_ “Yes.” _

“You want this?”

“Yes, Master, please-”

“Do you deserve it?”

“Fuck, _ fuck-” _

“And what if I said no?”

“Master, Master, please, I need to come, I- Master,  _ please, _ I’m-” he was babbling now, eyes flying around the room and not focusing on a single thing in it. There was a note of hysteria in his voice, delirious, completely mad. “I need you, Master, I need you so much I might die, I- oh gods- Master, please, Master-” He broke off and bucked again, gasping into the hand around his throat. _ “Master!” _

That was it. “Then do it,” he coaxed. “Come for me.”

The Doctor obliged with a scream, which the Master caught on his lips, his hand falling from the headboard to grasp at the bedsheets as the Master loosened the one around his neck.

The sight, the sound, the feeling of the Doctor in his mind, explosive and overwhelmed and fucking ecstatic, the feeling of him clenching around the Master, pushed him over the edge as well. He exhaled harshly, made one final thrust into the Doctor, and came, murmuring sweet nothings in the Doctor’s ear the whole time.

“Theta, Theta, my sweet little Theta, always so good,” he whispered, breath hitching, talking his way through his own orgasm. “How beautiful you look like this. All mine, all mine…” The Doctor lifted up, reaching, yearning for another kiss. And, well, the Master couldn’t very well say no.

“I missed you.”

_ Koschei. _

-

The Master tutted as he looked over the marks on the Doctor’s wrists. “That’ll be a bit of time to heal, I’m afraid.” He made sure to touch them as gingerly as possible as he turned them over between his fingers.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry about it now,” the Doctor teased, giving him one of those smiles. The kind that shone, even when one’s eyes were closed to them, the one that made his eyebrows lift and his nose crinkle. The Master wanted to kiss it. So he did. 

“I can’t say that, not honestly,” he murmured as he pulled away an inch, resting his hands on the Doctor’s bare sides. Those were less bruised, at least, though they too had their share of hickeys. 

“Neither can I,” the Doctor said with a devilish look on his face, then pulled away to reach for the shampoo bottle. 

“Let me?” It had been too long since the Master had seen the Doctor this way. Tired, messy, and cleaning up in the shower together. He wanted to remember it. 

The Doctor, blessedly, smiled fondly. “‘Course, Koschei.”

The Master gave him a pinch on the ass for that. “How can you be so bold after getting buggered like that?” No reply, just a sweet peck on the nose, and then he turned around expectantly. Little bastard.

The shower was big. It was more of a room in itself, really. A nice bench, on the wall, made of tile and wood, and that was what the Doctor sat on as the Master massaged the shampoo into his hair and scalp. 

He gave a contented sigh as they went along, neither saying much, but both feeling quite a bit - a warm, mushy feeling that the Master wasn’t so used to having after all this time. He couldn’t see it, but he could almost feel the smile on the Doctor’s lips. 

“Master?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“It feels good to have you back.” 

Oh. There it was again. The Master knew there was no way to hide that particular flutter, so he didn’t, and focused on rinsing the Doctor’s hair. Didn’t pay attention to the feeling of loneliness that was fading so quickly from the Doctor, being replaced by the very moment, and didn’t pay attention to the warmth in his own chest knowing that he was the reason. 

Instead he focused on the task at hand. The Doctor looked so sweet with wet hair. Important to make sure there was no shampoo left in it. That would be annoying, he reckoned. The Master felt the Doctor laughing at him.

“Oi. Shut it.”

“You’re an open book.”

“That can change.”

“It won’t.”

_ So smug. So sure of yourself. _ He could close the link, prove the Doctor wrong. The drums told him to, egged him on, but they were so unusually quiet against the sound of the water spraying on the tiles, and he felt so warm. 

Why give in to them, right now? He could enjoy this. This moment, out of so many, they could share idly.

“I can try to fix them,” the Doctor said quietly. He’d offered before. This time seemed different. This time seemed hopeful.

The Master had to choke down his gut instinct, which was to take any hope he felt and grind it under his heel like a dried-out worm. He didn’t feel like it this time. Maybe it was the after-sex haze. “Maybe.”

“I won’t give up on it, you know. There’s a way. There must be.”

“Okay.”

“...You don’t believe me.” The Doctor sounded hurt. He felt hurt, too, though he was clearly trying to hide it.

“Hey.” The Master willed him to turn around through the connection. That didn’t happen. So he took him with one hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, the other on his cheek, and did it manually. He pinched his cheek lightly. “Don’t take it personally, love. It’s been a while.”

“S’pose that’s fair enough.” Still sadly, but less so, and there was a smile on his face at least. 

The Master wondered when he went from wanting to see the Doctor hate him to wanting to see him happy. Perhaps there had always been a bit of both. 

_ You’re not nearly as horrible as you’d like to think, Kosch. _

“You take that back.”

“Take what back?” There was those ridiculous eyes again. The floppy wet hair sticking to his forehead. The Master felt something stir in his stomach.

“You know what.”

“Care to remind me?”

“You little bastard,” the Master said, and was quick to oblige, a smile twisting his lips. His hand tightened around the Doctor’s arm, the other travelling downward. “I’ll show you exactly how horrible I am.”

-

The next morning, the Master woke to find a deck of cards on his bedside table.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta say thanks to @darlingbatsy for making the bet with me in the first place - we both had to write a solid block of porn while on FaceTime. This took multiple sessions.
> 
> I deadass did not think I would be publishing this but! Here we go! If it's not obvious this is my first time writing anything like this LMAO.  
Kudos are always very appreciated and comments are always obsessed over!! Thank you for reading <3


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